The Apothecary's Daughter
by thehungergameswordsmith
Summary: I want to love Timothy Mellark. I really do, but my heart has always been stolen by Daymon Everdeen. I don't know if he pays me any mind or even knows I would want him, since he is a dirty Seam boy and I am a prim and cultured town girl. But, if I knew Daymon loved me as I love him, I would give up my entire life here for him. The untold love story of Katniss' parents.


My eyes wander down to the oval medallion Timothy has given me, rubbing the smooth edges with my finger. It's a silver locket, with intricate engraving on it. I know I possess many pictures I could fill it with, but there's only one person I want to put in it. Daymon Everdeen. The boy whose song makes the birds stop to listen. Yes, he is a Seam boy, but his eyes are kinder than any I've ever seen. The time I fell in the mud, his hand was the one to help me up. Not the polished hands of any of the town boys.

"Do you like it, Laurel?" Timothy Mellark asks as I'm lost in my thoughts.

I look up gratefully, "Yes, Timothy, its beautiful. I couldn't ask for a more beautiful gift." I continue to stare at its beauty.

I know Timothy Mellark has been in love with me for a year now, and we are courting, but I just can't find myself to be happy with him as my suitor. I am only seventeen years old; I am in no rush to marry and start a family. Our courtship is a match made in Heaven, to everyone but me. The baker's son, the apothecary's daughter. It should be the most profitable match made in years. Both our families encourage it. Both approve.

But the emptiness I feel when Timothy looks into my eyes is painful. I want to love Timothy Mellark. I really do, but my heart has always been stolen by Daymon Everdeen. I don't know if he pays me any mind or even knows I would want him, since he is a dirty Seam boy and I am a prim and cultured town girl. But, if I knew Daymon loved me as I love him, I would give up my entire life here for him.

The Reaping is today, and I know Timothy is giving me this locket as a goodbye present if he were to be chosen. Or worse, me. I have never needed to take tesserae, and neither has he, but by now our names have been entered enough times to be concerned. One of the last times a town child was chosen, he tripped and broke his ankle in the first five seconds of the games, and were killed less than ten seconds after that. None of the town kids have a chance if they're chosen.

Timothy kisses me on the cheek, pausing before he looks at me, "No matter what happens today, remember I love you."

I smile slightly, my lips curving, "I know." As he walks away, I frown after him. I am so guilty I cannot return his words. He is the ideal suitor, the one who would do well by me for my whole life. But, when there is no love, there can't be lasting happiness. A part of me wishes that I had grown up in the Seam, hunting alongside Daymon and being as close to him as I am to Timothy. Since Timothy and I grew up fairly close together, we were always close. And in the last year we have been seeing each other more, we know everything about one another. He is truly my best friend, but I have no romantic love for him in my heart.

I begin to walk to the square, slowly and afraid. I had never walked alone before, but my best female friend died last year from a Peacekeeper flogging her to death for purchasing the game he wanted before he could. Daymon and his father are some of the only hunters in the district, and meat is a pretty price.

A single tear rolls down my cheek as I think of her light, musical voice. We grew up next door to each other and were even born in the same month.

I enter the square and sign in, filing behind a few children from school. I glance over to see Daymon, smiling as if there was nothing happening. That boy could light the room up like a flame. I just wanted him as mine.

My heart drops as the district escort comes to the stage. Daymon accepts tesserae every time he can. The escort's clacky shoes and purple hair are enough to make anyone in 12 sick. Not all of us are starving, but to spend so much on an outfit is frowned upon even in the town. Nobody really cares about what her name is, but it is something like Lush Violet. Her trademark is her violet hair that despite the changing fads of the Capitol, stays the same from year to year.

By the time I come to attention, she is dipping her perfectly manicured hand into the bowl for the boys and taking a breath to read the little slip of paper, "Daymon Everdeen!" she calls out obnoxiously. My heart sinks to the ground, my legs become weak, and my teeth begin to chatter. _Daymon Everdeen. My _Daymon Everdeen.

I rush forward without thinking, screaming his first name, "Daymon! Daymon! No!"

Two peacekeepers yank me back, holding me against my struggling.

"I volunteer as tribute," a masculine voice calls from behind me. The boy walks up to the stage, and they go through their stages of allowing him to be tribute.

I don't know who this boy is, but all I can figure is he is one of Daymon's friends, since Daymon stares at the ground the rest of the Reaping, single tears trailing down his tan face.

I don't remember who the female tribute is. All I was focusing on the rest of the Reaping was how lucky I was to have not lost Daymon.

Afterwards, Daymon approaches me, "Laurel Hill, what was that?"

I stare at my feet and shrug, "I don't know."

Daymon reaches to brush back a strand of my hair, "You don't even know me. How could you have reacted like that?"

I shrug again. My shoes need a good cleaning, I think as I study them intently, "I remember you're a kind boy who makes the birds stop to listen."

From behind me, Timothy places his hand on my shoulder, nodding at Daymon to leave.

Daymon nods back, walking backwards for bit, then turning back to walk in the direction of the Seam.

"What was that about, Laurel?" Timothy demands with a raised voice.

I put my hand over his mouth, "Timothy, please not so loud."

Timothy shoves my hand away, lowering his voice, "Fine, but I need to know why you went wild over him being reaped."

"I just remember he was kind to me once, Timothy. That's all." My eyes catch his gaze. I know he sees right through me.

Timothy grips my hand, bringing it to his lips, "Remember who loves you, Laurel." He drops my hand, pausing before walking hurriedly away.


End file.
